I’ve said it before but it’s useful to reiterate: for some reason, living abroad has made me very moody. Yesterday I was very happy. This morning I was completely miserable. It seems as though very small things shift this balance. I was talking to my sister yesterday about the pros and cons of life in England and she reminded me never to underestimate the baseline generalized stress that comes with the expat life. The fact that so many things are so frustrating and even though each one is tiny, the complete picture becomes littered with all these tiny frustrations building up until I feel like screaming.
Logistical nightmare du jour, the thing which sent me to tears this morning? My stupid closet-less flat. It’s about half of a room too small at best–there needs to be a large closet or a small room into which I could put the things that I can’t get out of the middle of the place right now. The things that I don’t know what to do with and the clutter that is taking away my sense of ever feeling at home in my own place. I need to be able to shut the door on them. I cannot afford a bigger flat right now, and even if I could the idea of moving is really horrid after the number of times I’ve done it in the last few years. Even the simplest idea of how to try to fix this becomes remarkably difficult to impossible. I don’t have a car so I can’t get out to the home shops on the outskirts of town to try and find some sort of free-standing door-ed cabinets. I already have too much furniture in this place since it was semi-furnished to begin with, and so I really need to get some of this out of here before I bring anything else in anyways. IKEA does deliver to my post-code, I just checked. But of course it’s now mid-January and things are busy. When I really needed time off in late December, when I was vegetating and reading a lot and watching movies, that’s when I should have been addressing this major life overhaul closetless clutter problem. It’s all just a bit too much for me right now. I miss my little studio apartment in Minneapolis with its two big closets plus a huge pantry. That was the last place I really felt settled and home; my next place in Virginia was huge but it never got as well organized, probably because I was not enjoying my job there much. I guess the same things happen now, I’d have more energy to deal with the clutter if I was spending less of my time fighting with all the other stupid little things both in the job and in the expat life game.
I’m more convinced than ever that living alone is a really bad thing. There simply is no economy of scale. And there’s no one there to pick you up off the ground and tell you that “the floor is not for people.”